Monday, June 8, 2015

The Long Drive Home

In the bigger scheme of things, six hours is not a very long
time. But when it involves two people, strapped into the seats of a car,
driving through a ninety-something degree middle-of-nowhere valley, it can seem
like a very long time.

Yesterday was the conclusion of the Southern California
Genealogical Society’s conference, which they dub “Jamboree.” This is my third
year in attendance with, hopefully, many more to come.

Jamboree affords a great opportunity to gather with fellow
genealogy enthusiasts and learn from nationally recognized experts in the field—and
to rub elbows with keen thinkers and share experiences and ideas with other
researchers and Society leaders.

While the three-day extravaganza was invigorating (plus an
additional event, “DNA Day” adding another element to the series), I was
certainly ready to head home. When the time came, however, I noticed a
phenomenon. That morning waking-up enthusiasm to head back to my own familiar
surroundings gave way to noontime reluctance to leave, then afternoon
melancholy over parting with people I wouldn’t see for another year.

Driving out of the hotel parking lot made for a clean break.
There were traveling tasks to attend to: finding the nearest source of cheap
fuel for our car (Costco, down the street) and a somewhat nearby next stop with
fuel for the travelers (coffee and lunch-to-go), before mounting the “Grapevine”
and entering the monotonous valley.

The rest of the time, I suppose, could have been filled with
conversation. After all, there were lots of experiences to share with my
traveling companion—my husband—who joined me on the trip down, but judiciously
avoided remaining for any genealogical programs, himself.

We could also, possibly, have filled the hours listening to
music, or podcasts—we did, actually, put through their paces a few programs by
a marketing guru—or anything else to fill up the silent spaces.

But in those quiet times, I found myself steeped in thoughts
of the weekend classes. In this retrospective mindset, what I had previously
expressed in the doubts of the other day’s post gave way to a sense of
reflection, prompting analysis, then inspiration, then enthusiasm.

In this better frame of mind, I could hardly wait to get
home and begin work. There were so many ideas to tackle! I began to wonder how
a researcher could manage to find enough time and money to accomplish all that
needs to be done.

What made the change? I hardly could say that the attitude
in which I arrived home was the same mind frame in which I had left southern California. Yes, six
hours of driving through the Big Valley can be a long,
tedious effort. But what about that exercise would yield such an invigorated
turnabout?

One of the most handy iconic concepts gleaned from my young
school years demonstrates the concept of osmosis. Remember, from your grade
school years, the experiment with the celery stalk placed in colored water? The
changes may not have been visible immediately, but eventually, that food
coloring found its way, through the medium of the water with which it was
mixed, up through the stalks of celery, eventually tingeing even the leaves at
the top of the stalk with a hint of the color in which the celery was resting.

Osmosis has become a touchstone concept for me. It is the
flint that tests the realness of learning and experiencing life.

It reminds me that results are not instantaneous, but take
time—changes often come slowly, sometimes even imperceptibly.

It reminds me, also, that learning means crossing barriers—and
also that barriers are not always hopelessly impermeable. It may take some
steeping in a new subject—worse, sometimes outright pickling—before mastery
becomes perceptible. But there will
be progress, if just enough openness is exposed to the right medium.

And it consoles me that, even though immediate results are
not seen, it doesn’t mean that those results will never be forthcoming.
Somehow, they will find a way to blend with their host, creating something new
out of their synergy.

In this age of online connectivity, some seem to think that
gathering together—for something as brief as a local Society meeting, or as
gigantic as a regional or national conference—offers nothing more than can be obtained
through a solitary interface with a website. For those who are seeking only
facts—those names, dates and places we plaster on our pedigree charts and
family group sheets and presume to call that genealogy—perhaps that is so.

That, however, excludes the possibilities of what can happen
when people gather together. We may become excited about what we find on a
genealogy website—but it is what that
discovery means to us that requires someone with whom to share it. The
blending of discoveries, stories and people make for a beneficial mix. We may
not even realize the benefit at first, but just like osmosis, it will
eventually brighten our outlook on not only what we are achieving, but who we
are as people, as well.

Oh, Iggy, how well you must know this drill. Yes, indeed, my brain was oozing thoughts and needed some relief! But it wasn't twenty four hours and the "full speed" hit. Thanks to a lot of help from some talented people, I was able to finish work on two new projects today.

About Me

It is my contention that, after a lifetime, one of the greatest needs people have is to be remembered. They want to know: have I made a difference?
I write because I can't keep for myself the gifts others have entrusted to me. Through what I've already been given--though not forgetting those to whom I must pass this along--from family I receive my heritage; through family I leave a legacy. With family I weave a tapestry. These are my strands.